Ten years, two months, and seventeen days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-five years, two months, and seventeen days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and two days since arrival).
When the delegation of activists from the Karthakk sector entered the negotiation hall, Captain Vivant unconsciously tensed up.
Only three people who would, one way or another, make their verdict on the proposal made.
And their decision would determine whether he succeeded or not.
The ship's commander glanced at the chief engineer, Nick Reyes, sitting next to him.
The man was present on board the "Endurance" solely as a technical consultant — to assess the condition of the Karthakk Sector Forces' starships from the perspective of their professional suitability for further service to the Dominion.
Of course, only if the negotiations went as planned.
Otherwise, the "Endurance," having undergone urgent repairs and restored ninety percent of its combat capability after the recent battle in the Monsoon system, would simply obliterate these starships into cosmic dust.
And first, an emerald-green rain of turbolasers would pour onto the surface of Ord Selbus.
Orbital bombardment would wipe any traces of planetary fortifications from the face of the earth.
And then stormtroopers would land on the surface of the Sector Forces base and finish what was started.
After that, it could be considered that organized resistance in the sector was over.
The remaining numerous groups of pirates, outlaws, adventurers, slavers, and other criminal scum would be simply and flawlessly destroyed.
Dominion intelligence has been operating in the sector for a long time — since the capture of the Karthakk system.
They already know most of the threats.
The rest will be caught by imposing a blockade of the sector.
Of course, this will require sending a few "Interdictors" or "Immobilizers" here, but the security of the base on Lok requires subjugating the sector at any cost.
"Captain Vivant, the command of the Sector Forces has studied the Dominion's proposal," a middle-aged man with colonel's insignia addressed the commander of the "Endurance."
His appearance, posture, and manner of bearing directly demonstrated a military past and present.
Vivant decided to call him "Colonel" for himself.
Because these people have such long and convoluted names that you could break your tongue and tie it in a knot a couple of times before you could say them.
"I'm glad to hear that," Vivant tried to keep his voice calm. "What will your answer be?"
"First, we would like to clarify something," the head of the delegation warned. "The demands you are making… They are quite unusual."
"Not demands," Vivant corrected. "It's a proposal."
"But nevertheless," his interlocutor grumbled. "They have been presented to us. And we would like to understand what lies behind these words."
"And Tavira said that the text of the document on joining the Dominion is written in simple and understandable language," Vivant winced mentally.
Negotiating at this level is not his specialty.
He feels more comfortable on the bridge of a ship commanding a battle, not all this chatter.
"In fact, it is based on imperial postulates," the interlocutor stated. "but with significant changes. So… Listen, what kind of state structure do you have at all? So much is mixed in that our political science lieutenant almost broke his head before he figured it out."
"I'd like to figure it out myself," Vivant admitted to himself.
But he said something completely different aloud:
"What exactly is unclear to you?"
"Let's figure it out," the "Colonel" nodded to the officer sitting to his right. "Let Major… — again these long names, — explain it in simple terms. I don't understand a damn thing about it anyway."
"Welcome to the club," Vivant thought.
"So, there are several forms of state structure that have developed historically," the "Major" began. "Many of them remain only nominally, but still preserve in reality…"
"In short, Major," the "Colonel" demanded.
"Based on the text of the provisions on the form of political structure, two mutually exclusive moments can be identified in the Dominion," the "Major" continued. "The inclusion of new territories into the state based on a corresponding treaty. This is a sign of a contractual federation. The election of local self-government bodies — heads of cities, districts, settlements — up to planetary governors — can also be attributed to federal features. But at the same time, you have a sign of a unitary state — this is evident in the context of appointing sector moffs. I, of course, finished political science courses a long time ago, but it's simply impossible to combine two types of territorial structure like this. It turns out to be a relatively decentralized unitary state. But at the same time, it cannot be unitary, since you have divisions by administrative-territorial entities — sectors and systems. This again points to federalism. It gives the impression that you have gathered the most valuable experience from the Empire and the Old Republic in one crazy bottle, after which you somehow tied it together and presented it as a completely new form of territorial structure that the galaxy has never known. It's some kind of super-republic or sub-empire…"
"Specifically, what is the claim?" Vivant asked, his head already starting to ache from this conversation.
"We are trying to understand what does not fit into our heads," the "Colonel" explained.
"You can't just take 'something good' from one state, graft it onto another, implant something from a third, and so on!" the "Major" insisted passionately.
"Why not?" Nick Reyes perked up. "You absolutely can."
"How so?" the "Major" threw up his hands. "This is not written in any historical or political textbook?!"
"If you continue to live only by textbooks, you won't live long," Vivant stated. "No matter what this system of state structure is called…"
"Form," the "Major" said.
"What?" Vivant didn't understand.
"Form of state structure," the "Major" repeated. "There is no such concept as 'system of state structure.' More precisely, you can say so, but it's illiterate and you will simply…"
"Major," the subordinate interrupted his outpouring, "the 'Colonel.'"
"Yes, sir?"
"Shut your mouth," the higher-ranking officer gave the order. "You will open it only when you are addressed. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear, sir," the "Major" sulked.
"So, I will continue," Vivant declared. "Let the political scientists figure out the form of state structure of the Dominion. I have my own tasks. The main thing is that it works — the inhabitants of the planets themselves choose those who will deal with their issues locally. The Triumvirate appoints moffs at its discretion — those who are somehow capable of controlling what is happening in the subject and establishing life there, solving the problems of planetary governments, and establishing economic life. For all the time of the Dominion's existence, there have been no problems with this. Everyone knows their part of the work and performs it. And if they don't perform it with full dedication, then counterintelligence comes for them. And a new sentient appears in place of the one who failed."
"Yes, I also wanted to ask," the "Major" said. "The treaty states that the creation of national settlements, enclaves, for people from certain races is provided for. Does this mean you have national autonomies?"
"If by autonomies you mean signs of sovereignty or an independent foreign policy — then no," the commander of the star destroyer "Endurance" stated. "National enclaves are at most limited to certain planets or systems, which are governed by elected planetary governors."
"Well, but there is also a question about the form of government," the "Colonel" stated. "Major," the floor is yours."
"Thank you, sir. So, it turns out that you have a supreme official — a sentient being holding the position of Grand Admiral of the Dominion. He is simultaneously the Supreme Commander and the guarantor of the rights and freedoms of the inhabitants and citizens of the Dominion. But at the same time, there is also the Triumvirate — it consists of representatives of the executive power — the Grand Moff, a representative of the special services, and the Commander of the Armed Forces. Or their deputies are appointed to these positions. At the same time, the Grand Admiral has a semblance of unlimited power. But at the same time, the Triumvirate also deals with a wide range of tasks. In fact, we are talking about a semblance of a dualistic monarchy. But in the classical understanding of this term, the power of the head of state should be limited by the constitution or other laws — but yours is unlimited. How does this even work?"
"Simply," Vivant said maliciously. "It just works. The Grand Admiral sets tasks for the Triumvirate — they perform them."
"You meant to say — 'set,'" the "Colonel" stated.
Nick Reyes coughed into his fist.
Vivant once again mentally expressed everything he thought about himself.
"Exactly," he agreed. "I think that we, as military men, should all understand that the Dominion was born from the ruins of the Empire and was created from the standpoint of military efficiency. Therefore, it is foolish to look for any explicit political doctrines and terms here."
"I agree," the "Colonel" said. "Well, let's move on to the Armed Forces. As I understand it, you have a duality in the army and the navy?"
"That's right," Vivant agreed. "There are regular Armed Forces, and there are Defense Forces. The former are formed exclusively on a voluntary contract basis. The latter — on a voluntary conscription basis."
"Why so complicated?" the "Colonel" frowned. "The Empire conscripted everyone into the Armed Forces and had no problems forming what they needed."
"We do not have the capabilities and resources of the Empire," Captain Vivant stated. "That is why conscription into military service is exclusively voluntary. Conscripts who have served in the Defense Forces receive Dominion citizenship and, along with it, expanded rights and obligations. From the government's point of view, every citizen of the state, patriotically inclined towards defending the borders and internal stability of the Dominion, should have more advantages compared to those who wish to remain in the rear and not take up arms."
"Defense of the state is the sacred duty of every man," the "Colonel" nodded understandingly. "We understand and accept this. But why not everyone? Why not total conscription? This would allow creating an army of millions in the shortest possible time. Possibly even billions."
"This statement contains the problem," Vivant stated. "In the Dominion, not only men can be conscripted into military service. Not only humans. Any sentient being residing in the territory of the state can become a volunteer."
"Regardless of health category?" the "Colonel" frowned.
"No restrictions," Vivant stated. "Service in our Armed Forces is not only actions on the front lines. A sentient being with poor health may not be fit for combat duty, but can stand watch or guard duty. But they can easily be technicians, doctors, medics, flight coordinators, truck drivers, and so on. The presence of civilian specialized professions is also taken into account when distributing. We have a large number of medics who are not of human race — almost seventy percent of the military medical service. And they work excellently in their places, providing treatment and rehabilitation for our fighters. A considerable number of aliens have enlisted in the Dominion Intelligence Corps — they conduct research and mapping of planets within the Dominion, primarily those that were not properly explored during the Empire or the Old Republic. Many aliens, unfamiliar with complex technology, act as guards on newly settled planets. Or builders. Droid scouts first enter every new planet, after which the sentient contingent, engaged in direct work, lands. They finish in one world — and move on to the next."
"I can add from myself that many civilians have signed contracts with the Dominion Engineering Corps and are working in enterprises and shipyards, repairing ships and equipment far from the front lines," Reyes said. "Their lives are not threatened. Many such civilian specialists choose to undergo alternative military service — in this case, they are sent not to training units, but to defense industry enterprises in their specialty. For the period of service, they receive all the guarantees of 'conscripts,' and if they want to extend their service, but already in the ranks of the 'regulars' and meet the requirements, they are transferred to enterprises controlled by the military sector of the state, including. You certainly can't slack off there — military acceptance does not allow for shoddy work. These are even the requirements of civilian state standards in technical control departments — these are military specializations and, accordingly, military standards, requirements, and responsibility for their non-compliance."
And both of them experienced all its "charms" not so long ago.
And they continue to experience them — the Dominion does not forgive missed deadlines for planned state tasks.
"Not to mention that it is the volunteer conscripts who serve as military personnel ensuring the uninterrupted operation of orbital defense and customs control stations," Vivant said. "As well as managing the air defense and planetary defense systems of planets. Under the supervision of regular Armed Forces officers, of course."
"And what is the difference between the Defense Forces and the regular Armed Forces then?" the "Colonel" looked at him bewildered. "After all, planets can be attacked."
"Layered defense of worlds is the Dominion's tactic," Vivant explained. "But to reach our planets, the enemy will first have to go through the regular army and fleet. And only those who perfectly understand what war is serve there. They have combat experience and appropriate service time on the front lines. The Defense Forces cannot boast of this — their training is primarily theoretical. They gain combat experience during service under the command of regular forces officers. During patrols of Dominion systems, skirmishes with various armed groups, such as pirates, slavers, criminals, and other scum, periodically occur. Over time, having served the minimum tenure, receiving appropriate recommendations, or for other merits, a fighter gains the right to sign a contract with the regular Armed Forces. After which he awaits in-depth theoretical and practical training in army and navy educational institutions as part of active units."
"If I understood correctly, the Defense Forces are directly responsible for rear security, while the regular forces conduct combat operations on the borders and beyond the Dominion?" the "Colonel" continued to inquire.
"In general terms — yes," Vivant confirmed.
"In that case, will the armed forces of the joined systems and sectors be assigned to the Defense Forces?" the man continued to probe.
"If they have combat experience and meet the requirements, they can apply for a transfer to the regular forces," Vivant explained. "Almost all military personnel from the joined sectors have this right."
"And do they immediately join the regular forces?" the "Colonel" clarified.
"If their qualifications match — yes, if not — to training and practical units."
"Why not train everyone the same way?" the "Colonel" wondered. "Right at the conscription stage, sentient beings could be assigned to training units of the regular forces and trained there according to the model of the regular army and navy."
"There is a difference in training," Vivant explained. "For the 'regulars,' it is much higher and more intensive. Not every farmer from yesterday can withstand twenty standard hours of continuous training in simulators or grueling drill. Not all of them are fit for general training due to their health."
"In general terms, it's understandable," the "Colonel" said after thinking. "The system, although complex, allows filtering out those who are motivated to serve on the front lines from those who simply want to defend their home and are not interested in anything else. However, a differentiated approach based on health categories and professional skills is something new. The Empire simply screened out those who did not meet the eligibility criteria."
"And as a result, there were those who, one way or another, harbored resentment towards the Empire," Vivant reminded. "Not everyone can serve on the front lines. Traveling around the galaxy inside a star destroyer is also not for everyone. However, if a sentient being is not suitable for front-line service, they can take a position in headquarters, an operational-tactical center, or rear services. Fill a vacancy that, under other circumstances, could have been taken by someone fit for service on a destroyer or in armored troops. Simply because the assignment to headquarters happened faster than to an AT-AT regiment or artillery."
"Yes, military bureaucracy is as imperfect as civilian bureaucracy," the "Colonel" chuckled. "I understand that those who served in the regular forces have more preferences than those who served in the Defense Forces?"
"Of course," Vivant agreed. " 'Regulars' receive full medical insurance for life. 'Conscripts' — only in case of injuries sustained during service. 'Regulars,' upon returning to civilian life, have priority over 'conscripts' when hired for state or state-private enterprises. Both during service and after its completion, they are exempt from all types of taxes — this is a differentiated category and depends on the duration of the contract, merits and wounds, rank, participation in combat operations, personal merits during service, and so on. 'Conscripts,' for the most part, are exempt from territorial and sector taxes, which are introduced by local administration."
"Not to mention that 'regulars' are paid more, aren't they?" the "Colonel" chuckled.
"Of course," agreed the commander of the Endurance. "A sentient being who joins the regular Armed Forces not only receives a higher salary but is also fully assured that the state will take care of his loved ones in the event of his death. And during their service, they lack nothing – the same unlimited insurance applies to them, children are admitted to schools and kindergartens faster. In fact, there are so many advantages to serving in the regular Armed Forces that it would take more than a day to discuss them all here and now. Honestly, I myself don't remember or know more than half of them. When a 'regular' applies anywhere to official authorities, it is enough to present his identification, which indicates his merits, and officials will inform him of everything he is entitled to and help him choose the most optimal option. Preferential loans at the bank, for example, are very popular among young officers. And middle and senior commanders do not disdain them either. However, the longer you serve, the more it turns into an interest-free installment plan. You return as much as you took. Given the stability of the Dominion's currency, even inflation is discussed insignificantly. The real sector of the economy allows it to be suppressed if it tries to raise its head above hundredths of a percent."
"The 'Bank'?" the Colonel clarified. "Is there only one bank in the Dominion?"
"For civil servants – yes," Vivant confirmed. "All state calculations with officials or military personnel, social sphere workers pass through it. Civilian civil servants also have their tangible preferences compared to the private sector, but this is dictated by the fact that they are entrusted with the responsibility for the functioning of the state apparatus and the implementation of state tasks. Naturally, there are also dishonest officials – counterintelligence punishes them mercilessly. In the best case, such people face long-term forced labor with confiscation of all property, substantial fines."
"In other words, serving the Dominion is profitable," the Colonel said dreamily.
"First and foremost – it is honorable," Vivant corrected. "The Dominion is above all else in this galaxy. This must be understood, accepted, and lived by this motto throughout life. For military personnel, the honor and authority of the state are paramount. Truly luxurious bonuses from good and proper service are a pleasant addition that gives you the understanding that you are not spending a large part of your time in space and killing the enemies of the Dominion in vain."
"And yet, I don't understand how, with such an approach to staffing the Armed Forces, you manage to operate dozens of ships so skillfully," the Colonel furrowed his brow. "It takes years for a recruit to turn into a real soldier."
"That's why I said not everyone can withstand the training of 'regulars'," Vivant explained. "Our training programs are grueling, lengthy, and extremely effective."
"And we also have clones," he added mentally. "Therefore, the Dominion will never have problems having a combat-ready core of its forces. Clones see themselves nowhere but in military service. Preferences and salaries are largely irrelevant to them – being fully provided for by the state, they don't need anything else. Even in case of injury, clones always strive to return to the Armed Forces – if not to the front lines, then at least to the rear."
"And what about the economy?" asked the Colonel.
"All large enterprises that can be used for the production of dual-use products – civilian and military – are in private-state ownership with state apparatus control," Vivant explained.
"Including those involved in the production, maintenance, and repair of military equipment?" the Colonel was surprised.
"No," Reyes stated. "They are exclusively under state jurisdiction. Which, in turn, allows employees not to worry about their rights being infringed in any way. Salaries in such enterprises are higher than in private ones. But, only citizens of the Dominion are admitted to work there – that is, those who have undergone either voluntary conscription service in the Defense Forces or its alternative option. For example, 'Aracida Industries,' which produces both civilian and military droids, landspeeders, and spare parts, functions entirely as a public-private partnership. And they are completely satisfied with this – the requirements of the Dominion's Quality Control Department are high even in the civilian production sector, but this allows Kelada to sell high-quality goods in high demand throughout the galaxy at high prices. And the Dominion's presence as the sole customer for military equipment also allows them to receive large sums of money without worrying about their employees being called up for military service, even in the event of a hypothetical mobilization of the conscript population, which could negatively affect production and profit."
"Yes, mobilization issues are exactly what I wanted to discuss next," the Colonel stated. "These are relics of the Empire. Is it necessary?"
"At the moment, it is no more than a law that the government can use only when the state is on the verge of destruction," Vivant clarified. "There should always be a reserve plan. No one is eager to immediately draft billions of men and women into the Armed Forces, only to observe victories on the battlefield and economic stagnation in the rear due to the withdrawal of competent personnel. Qualified soldiers should fight, not civilians. But in circumstances where the regular army can be destroyed or suffer excessively heavy losses, mobilization remains the only viable option for defending the state. You can rest assured – we have enough regular troops and Defense Forces to repel any threat without resorting to the mobilization of the Dominion's population. There are no threats yet that we cannot handle."
Vivant did not voice it, but he himself perfectly assumed that if the threat of Palpatine's armada or the Yuuzhan Vong, which the Grand Admiral spoke of, persisted and was not neutralized to an acceptable level, then mobilization issues would have to be addressed.
No matter how severe the consequences for the Dominion's economy it might entail.
Industry can be restored.
Difficultly, for a long time, but possible.
But creating a state from ruins is much harder.
"The treaty includes a clause stating that if worlds within the Dominion are unwilling to assist with conscription into the Defense Forces, their taxes will be multiplied," the Colonel stated.
"That is correct," Vivant confirmed. "If the local government has no desire to help in its own defense by sending citizens for military training, then they have another choice – to help train other, more conscious residents, through financial means. These clauses in the treaty are mainly used by trading planets and economically developed worlds. However, not all. For example, Makem-Te has a large number of volunteers for service in both the Defense Forces and the regular Armed Forces. At the same time, the government, in order to support the Dominion, which provides them with protection and opportunities for active trade, directs significant funds to the state budget. Much more than provided for by legislative norms. Strange as it may be to admit, local self-government representatives took advantage of loopholes and clauses in tax legislation to slightly increase tax rates among the population and thereby increase tax contributions to the budget."
"A strange situation for traders," the Colonel said suspiciously.
"More than strange," Vivant agreed. "But, if you delve into the issue and understand that Makem-Te is one of the most remote planets on the Dominion's periphery, along with Kelada, for example, then their initiatives in large contributions are understandable. Their governments perfectly understand that no one, except the Dominion, will actively support and protect them. The more credits they direct to the state budget, the greater and stronger their protection will be."
Considering that some of the strongest defensive lines have been built in orbit around Kelada and Makem-Te, and the largest and most capable squadrons are on combat duty in these systems, the compromise is worth making with a clear conscience.
"It sounds too good to be true," the Colonel said after a few minutes of thought, expressing what was on his mind. "The Empire never behaved like this. Concessions, popularization of service, provision of layered defense. All this costs a huge amount of money!"
"From the Dominion government's perspective, it is very reasonable," Vivant countered. "The population works for the good of the Dominion. The Dominion works for the favorable existence and protection of its population. The more you give to the Dominion, the more it gives to you."
"And what happens to those who don't work for the Dominion?" the Major blurted out, earning a disapproving look from the Colonel. "Your document states that labor is voluntary. What do those who don't want to work receive? Unemployment benefits? Labor camps?"
"The latter are intended exclusively for criminals and prisoners of war," Vivant stated. "Yes, you are right. Completely right. There are always those who do not wish to work honestly. Those who want to will always find a suitable option. If they cannot find employment themselves, local authorities will help them. There is always a lot of work, you just need to find one that you like."
"And what do you do with categorical idlers then?" the Major persisted. "Criminal bosses, for example, will never officially work. Especially for the state."
"Of course they won't," Vivant readily agreed. "For this, we have law enforcement agencies – to deprive various kinds of bandits of the opportunity for illegal and criminal earnings. And organized crime is tracked down and destroyed by counterintelligence. Sometimes – with the support of the regular Armed Forces."
"Even during the Empire, there were beggars who saw no other way of existence than alms from luckier sentient beings," the Colonel remarked. "Undoubtedly, they exist among the Dominion's sectors. There are quite a few of them in Karthakk too."
"In that case, they need to make a choice – either find work, or hope that they can feed themselves this way," Vivant said concisely. "The state did not support and will never support idlers and lazy people. Those who work eat. Those who do not wish to do so, that is their choice."
"But some are so ill that they won't fit any criteria, even for the lowest-paying jobs," the Major insisted.
"If there's a will," Vivant stated. "The Dominion meets those who want to work halfway. To improve health, get a prosthesis, undergo retraining, or get to another planet where there is a suitable vacancy is possible in any case – the main thing is to contact the local self-government bodies. A credit for treatment will be provided, which the future employee will repay after employment. And at the same time – the payments are so small that they can last for years, even decades. You just need to overcome your laziness and ask an official how state employees can help you."
"I would send such people to construction sites on newly settled planets," the Colonel admitted. "No need to pollute the streets and spoil the views with begging."
"The Triumvirate, and the Grand Admiral, have different views on this matter," Vivant said coldly. "I will repeat what I have already said: 'Those who work eat.' And this is by no means a simple phrase – it is a resolution by Grand Admiral Thrawn, imposed on the bill on voluntary labor of the Dominion's population. No one will be forced. If you want to live, then get your ass off the pavement, go to the nearest broadcast point, listen to information about the Dominion's programs for supporting and rehabilitating the population – and take a step towards changing your once miserable life. Well, and if you don't want to do it – then survive as you know how. Why should the money of taxpayers – the residents and citizens of the Dominion, who work honestly and pay taxes – be spent on supporting loafers who only want to parasitize at someone else's expense?"
"It sounds logical," the Colonel admitted reluctantly. "Well... Now for the most important question. The Sector Forces agree to become part of the Dominion. But we are not responsible for the entire sector – a significant part of it is under the control of pirate or bandit groups. Spice smuggling is reaching alarming proportions, and the money from its sale attracts a large number of mercenaries and adventurers, cutthroats, and other criminals. Often, they have ships and weapons no inferior, and sometimes even superior, to ours. The Sector Forces, reduced after the battle in the Monsoon system, are clearly insufficient to deal with them. Even if we are reorganized into Sector Defense Forces, it will take a large number of forces to get rid of them."
Captain Vivant sighed discreetly.
The fact that the activists of the Karthakk sector would accept the offer of voluntary accession was the most expected outcome of the negotiations.
But not absolutely guaranteed.
The activists had weakened, the bandits had grown bolder.
Arming themselves at their own expense, the Sector Forces had practically exhausted their resources.
If the New Republic had provided them with timely support, they would have certainly refused.
But now they were left to their own devices.
And they understood perfectly well that they were fighting against the wind – without outside help, they would never improve the situation in their home sector.
The Colonel understood perfectly well that the hopeless struggle against crime would either lead to the destruction of his group – as happened during the previous appearance of the Zann Consortium in the Karthakk sector – or they would desert, not wanting to engage in labor that yielded no visible results.
The leak of information and their appearance on the battlefield were clearly done to make the Karthakki join the Dominion, seeing the looming threats and realizing their helplessness.
As well as the fact that no state, except the Dominion itself, cared about them.
"Believe my word – this is the easiest part of the job," he said with a smile, rising from the table and extending his right palm, mirroring the Colonel's movements. "Welcome to the Dominion. You can take my word for it – neither you nor your people will regret this."
"We'll see in the long run," the Colonel stated cautiously, responding to the handshake. "So, where do we start, gentlemen?"
"To begin with," Nick Reyes took the floor, "I would like to inspect your material and technical base to understand how deep the black hole of your supply and support is."
"And we will also work on tidying up your base on Ord Selbus," Vivant continued. "We need a reliable rear more than ever."
It was still very, very early to report that the Dominion already had a base in this sector.
First, intelligence and counterintelligence should be allowed to thoroughly study the loyalty of the new members of the Dominion.
And then it would be time to reveal secrets.
If it ever came to that, of course.
***
Like most worlds located in the territories of the ancient Thion State, the planet Jaminere had a rather rich history.
More than two and a half decades ago, it was the capital of one of the ancient states of the Tion Cluster: the Kingdom of Jaminere.
Then followed several transformations – both voluntary and forced, during which Jaminere became part of states such as the Three Allied Kingdoms, the Xera Empire, and later the Zima-Despot Empire.
Following the collapse of the latter, the planet became the capital of another interstellar state – the Borders of Jaminere.
It was one of the warring states that arose in the Tion Cluster from the ashes of the Zima Despot Empire a century after its death.
In the following centuries, Jaminere's rule extended from Emaril and Dezargor to Amarin and Arghai, and its influence still persists in the neighboring systems.
Many years ago, Jaminere and the entire Tion Cluster joined the Galactic Republic.
In the final years of the Old Republic's existence, the worlds of the Tion Cluster joined the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and were later conquered by the Galactic Empire.
In retaliation for their loyalty to the separatists, the Empire divided the Tion Cluster, called by local radical aristocrats nothing less than the Thion Hegemony, into several insignificant sector states, whose governments quietly bickered among themselves, wishing to curry favor with the Emperor and receive the right to conquer their neighbors from him.
Palpatine, an experienced intriguer, not wanting problems under his nose out of nothing, accepted signs of attention and gifts from the local aristocracy of the divided territories, but did not intend to allow any of them to strengthen themselves militarily or politically.
On the contrary, he did with the local governments exactly what he did with his officials – he pitted them against each other, forcing them to get bogged down in petty squabbles and disputes, thereby preventing the restoration of the Thion Hegemony on a historical scale.
Thus, Jaminere became the capital of the sector.
Moff Gronn, who was once merely one of the administrators of the Allied Thion sector, unexpectedly rose to prominence after Grand Admiral Thrawn began to act contrary to Orinda's wishes.
A fervent imperial, he was clearly promoted solely so that the Grand Admiral could not sway Allied Thion to his side.
Well, it can be said that the Imperial Ruling Council succeeded in this better than ever.
Moff Gronn possessed sufficient armed forces to control significant systems of the sector.
His tacit agreement with Lianna – TIE series technology in exchange for protection and non-interference in the planet's affairs – yielded certain results.
There were enough TIE fighters at the bases in the sector to ensure a nominal military presence.
Despite the industrial development of Janimere and several other planets in the Allied Thion sector, talking about sovereignty was overly optimistic.
Allied Thion could barely feed and provide for itself with great difficulty – and even then, thanks to supplies from Orinda.
Having separated from Imperial Space, the sector was inevitably faced with economic and many other problems.
Which began to manifest themselves already now – when it became widely known that a large part of Moff Gronn's fleet had disappeared without a trace from the sector.
Various dealers, adventurers, and unscrupulous merchants were diligently trying to find ways to corrupt officials to extract the maximum from the sector's economy, which was visibly declining.
Torin, with his arm extended, showed the nexu cub a piece of meat.
The predator, blinking all its eyes, loudly twitched its nose, trying to understand if its owner was offering it a tasty treat.
"A delicacy," Torin prompted. "You behaved well in my absence, so here's your reward. And crawl out from under the table – I need to work."
The agent had no desire for the cub to start gnawing on his boots.
The kitten had clearly missed him in his solitude (scratches on the walls and torn sofa upholstery spoke for themselves) and intended to play with its owner, who had deigned to return home.
He had to spend a lot of time traveling through the sector's systems to assess the real situation.
Reports from Dominion Intelligence agents operating in Allied Thion were good, of course.
But it was better to control the situation as a whole independently.
And the situation was not pleasant.
He heard an eager gurgling coming from the nexu cub's mouth, perfectly understanding what would follow the predator's demonstration of hunting instincts.
The kitten emerged from under the table for a moment.
But not at all to savor the prey.
It had quickly learned the trick Torin used to lure it out of hiding, and now it wouldn't easily resolve the dilemma between wanting a tasty dinner and staying in its shelter.
A sharp flick of its thin tail, like a whip, hit his palm, knocking the meat out of it.
As soon as the treat was on the floor, with the scraping of claws clinging to the parquet, the nexu lunged for the prey.
Hunting instincts and the desire to diversify its diet with something more fun prevailed.
It was so interesting – to attack its owner, knock the treat out of his hand, take it, and return under the work table to devour it with pleasure.
Perhaps the human was so foolish or generous that he would repeat this intriguing trick again.
Or twice.
Or more.
Which of them needed the kitten to come out from under the table?
Clearly the human – the nexu was comfortable there too.
Dark, dry, close to the heating system radiators, where it could lie down and doze.
The problem was precisely that Torin needed to work alone – it wouldn't be possible with a bored nexu.
Even though it was small, its claws were as sharp as razors, and its tail hit very, very hard.
The fluffy predator-rogue slid across the porcelain tile where the piece of meat had fallen.
Unable to stop, despite attempts to brake with all its paws and claws, the cub slid on the polished surface and, as expected, was grabbed by the scruff of its neck.
Torin unceremoniously lifted the several-kilogram beast to eye level.
The nexu hissed, cowering and threateningly waving its paws a couple of times, trying to intimidate the larger opponent.
"And who were you trying to fool?" Torin asked rhetorically.
The nexu blinked all its eyes, baring its needle-sharp teeth.
It swished its tail around, but the thick fabric of the uniform softened the unpleasant sensations.
"Rogue," Inek shook his head, picking up the dropped meat from the floor with his free hand.
Holding the kitten in one hand and the meat in the other, the agent headed for the stairs leading to the first floor.
Passing by the scratched and literally splintered double door of his office, he calmly went downstairs.
The cage, where the nexu was supposed to spend most of its time when its owner couldn't pay attention to it, gleamed invitingly with metal in the darkest corner of the living room.
The mischief-maker hissed, understanding that it was about to be returned to a two-by-two-meter enclosure, which meant it could no longer engage in its exercise routine, destroying everything in sight and sharpening its claws on various vertical and horizontal objects.
Walls, for example, were a great place to sharpen its claws.
And to stretch out to its full length, standing on its hind legs, was incredibly convenient.
There was no such space in the cage.
Just lie on a comfortable bedding, gnaw on bones and eat meat, and get bored – who would like that?
"Give me a couple of hours to work in silence," Torin asked, tossing the rascal into the cage and locking the door. "And then we'll definitely play. If you're a good boy, I'll let you out into the yard and let you hunt small animals."
The nexu hissed indignantly and enthusiastically, meowing irritably for emphasis.
However, after some time, when it grew up, this "waaau" with characteristically childish intonations would turn into a threatening roar that could make one wet their pants.
"Clever boy," Torin commented on the nexu's actions.
The cub, having resigned itself to its prisoner's fate, stomped its paws on its bedding with displeasure and collapsed onto it, turning away from its owner's gaze indignantly.
"Well, go ahead and organize an unsanctioned rally so I feel guilty," Torin smiled.
Strangely enough, this little one evoked more emotions in him than any problems in life.
Including if they concerned the emotions of other sentient beings.
With the predator, Inek didn't have to play any emotional games and could be himself.
The cub tried to imitate his behavior, but did so with animalistic naivety, which was endearing.
Inek returned to the stairs, intending to go back to the second floor.
"Moff Gronn," who had returned from a "secret inspection," introduced him as his adjutant, who handled most of the routine problems and delved into all the routine matters instead of the ruler himself.
Who was doing God knows what, locked away in his palace.
The behavior was more than consistent with the previous Gronn, with the only exception that before, one could get an audience with him personally.
Now, all negotiations were conducted on his behalf by Torin.
This had to be done because "Moff Gronn" was merely the appearance of the sector's previous owner.
A clone created in the Dominion's laboratories.
Given that his predecessor was also a clone, the lack of data about his previous behind-the-scenes life could greatly harm the entire endeavor.
The current "moff" knew absolutely nothing about what the real Gronn was supposed to know.
Therefore, the adjutant's appearance served as an information absorber – to convey something to the moff, one had to meet with Torin himself and tell him everything.
This allowed them to gradually reconstruct the picture of what was happening in the sector and gather information.
And now Torin intended to analyze data on the deployment of fifty-one new legions, acquired from Carida, on the planets of Allied Thion.
Somewhere old bases needed to be expanded.
Somewhere ancient ones needed to be restored.
Somewhere – built anew.
Not to mention establishing logistical chains and so on.
Just as the "moff" was racking his brain over deciphering and analyzing an impressive library of information chips from his predecessor's personal collection, Torin took on all the current work.
And as soon as he set foot on the first step of the stairs, a buzzer sound from the entrance door announced a new guest.
"Uninvited visitors at two in the morning," Torin looked at the chronometer above the entrance door. "What could possibly go wrong?"
Checking the combat knife secured on the inner surface of his forearm and the blaster at his belt, the agent headed for the door.
He lived in the government quarter, in a small two-story mansion, granted by the "moff."
The neighbors were all officials and wealthy individuals who had obtained their homes through semi-legal means.
Once, aristocrats lived here, from whom the previous moff had ruthlessly gotten rid of.
And visiting each other here was not customary.
And getting onto the territory of an isolated cottage settlement was even more of an impossible task.
Inek opened the carved wooden door, ready to engage in combat at any moment.
But what he saw before him surprised him.
More precisely, not "what" – not a cavalcade of speeders occupying all the parking spaces in front of the house.
Not a multitude of armed mercenaries surrounding the approaches to the house.
Even the BX-series combat droids, positioned on either side of the entrance door – they interested him the least.
But the enormous carcass, under the weight of which even permacrete steps and the porch creaked – yes.
"Finally," boomed the mountain of muscle, fat, and foul breath in Huttese.
The Hutt impatiently pushed the door and, with his entire mass, shoved Inek aside, squeezing (if such an expression can be used for a two-hundred-kilogram-plus carcass) into the living room.
Commando droids followed him, but they didn't get far.
Torin plunged a knife into the base of one's metal neck, severing the energy conduits.
He shot the second directly between its optical sensors with his blaster, sending a couple of them to lie at the threshold.
The mercenaries tensed considerably but were in no hurry to do anything, preferring to listen to the Hutt's rumbling laughter.
"Lord Mi-Ha wishes to say..." came the voice of a translator droid, which appeared from behind the doorjamb.
"Disappear," Torin replied in Huttese, closing the door in the protocol droid's face.
It seemed to have begun.
The Hutt, quite nimbly, found himself in the living room and tried to climb onto the wide sofa.
But hearing it crumble under his weight, he pretended as if that was intended.
"You're quite a guy," the crime boss said. "I was assured you'd crap yourself as soon as you saw the commando droids. You owe me twenty thousand credits for destroying them, by the way."
Torin specialized in assassinations, assault operations, and sabotage, but not in infiltrating criminal organizations.
The latter required narrow specialization and an understanding of the laws by which the criminal world lived.
Inek lacked the patience for undercover work in such vile organizations – it was much easier to blow them all to hell or shoot them one by one.
However, in the current situation, he had enough brains to realize that agreeing with the claims or arguing with the Hutt would mean a position of a weak participant in the dialogue.
This could not be allowed under any circumstances.
Mi-Ha was the king of the criminal underworld, controlling a significant portion of the black market, illegal deals, and crime in Allied Thion.
He and his dark dealings provided the previous "moff's" predecessor with capital, which he used at his discretion.
The absence of accounting made it practically impossible to track the financial flows – both income and expenses – of the previous clone who led the Allied Thion sector.
But destroying the criminal organization outright, cutting it off at the root, would be foolish.
At the very least, because according to Imperial Intelligence data, Mi-Ha Hutt had long been associated with the Black Sun.
And where the latter were, there were the "ears" of the Zann Consortium, which, with a high degree of probability, had created Moff Gronn's clone, who had been running the sector in the recent past.
Mi-Ha Hutt.
Torin and the "moff Gronn" had been trying to ascertain Mi-Ha's involvement in the sector's affairs for some time, but had so far encountered traces of his extremely deep penetration.
"In that case, you owe me another five thousand," Torin said fearlessly, pointing at the ruined sofa.
"Ha!" the Hutt grunted.
With incredible agility, he brought his blaster forward, aiming it at Torin's chest.
There was nothing to fear here – Mi-Ha, with all his power, would not kill the moff's trusted subordinate, even if he was a lapdog of the Zann Consortium.
Because Torin was officially a military man.
And the sector's armed forces were the only thing that had not yet succumbed to corruption and criminal influence.
Bandits had already regretted several times that they tried to eliminate some captains who were hindering the smuggling of contraband and weapons — destroyers had turned two dozen spice ships to dust, causing significant damage to criminals.
Most likely, this is why the Moff was replaced by a clone — the military, though not particularly, still listens to him.
"Go ahead," Inek suggested, switching to a familiar address. "You know the consequences."
"I know, little human," the Hutt boomed, and raising his blaster upwards, lit a foul cigar from its muzzle.
Where he hid all this on his enormous body is unknown.
Torin was not sure if he wanted to know.
"What do I owe this to?" the adjutant asked.
"Your master did not coordinate the transport routes for two caravans with very expensive items," the Hutt explained in his native language. "And he started placing his 'dolls' on the planets. We agreed on something else."
"The stormtroopers don't bother you," Torin said cautiously, realizing he was getting new information. "On the contrary, we are strengthening the sector's defenses."
"You'd better bring your destroyers, wherever you're hiding them, and not cause a commotion on the planets," the Hutt lamented. "Withdraw your troops. They are hindering me and making my partners nervous."
"No," Inek shook his head negatively. "The Moff decided to strengthen the planets' defenses. I already had a dialogue with him about this — he refused. Our neighbors from the Tion Hegemony..."
"I don't give a damn about your neighbors' bantha poodoo puddle!" the Hutt declared, raising his voice. "Your patrols have changed their schedules. Two of my ships have already been stopped, searched, and the crews arrested."
So, it's about those transporters carrying disintegrators to the periphery of the sector.
"I'm sorry, but until everything calms down, we must demonstrate our strength to our rivals..."
"And you must demonstrate obedience to me," Mi-Ha puffed smoke in his face. "Your master is taking too much upon himself. He doesn't answer calls. He doesn't want to meet. I have many other things to do — meeting some servant is not on that list."
"These are the Moff's new rules," Inek stated calmly. "He also has his hands full."
"I'm least interested in his affairs," Mi-Ha declared menacingly. "Release my ships, my cargo, and my people. Immediately. And from now on — do not detain them! Never!"
"I regret, but according to our information, the Tions from the Hegemony intend to arm our radicals," Torin stated. "We cannot allow free movement of ships in the sector..."
"I'm not interested in what you can and cannot do, little human," the Hutt spun his lighter-blaster on his fat finger. "Your master is taking too much upon himself. And his guards, who don't let my people through — they are too. Tell him this — either he obeys my partners, or my fighters will play ball with his head in a couple of weeks. Am I making myself clear?"
"It would be better to coordinate the shipments with me again," Torin suggested. "The Moff is busy and I won't distract him with such a trifle. I don't want his guards to play ball with my head."
"Gronn has taken on too much lately," Mi-Ha thundered. "He used to be compliant until he flew to save Lianna. And now he's brought you from somewhere, his mercenary guards, new rules that no one likes, and a whole army. Where did all this come from?"
Hutts did not bother themselves with delicate conversations with those they did not respect or fear.
They feared little in principle.
And earning their respect was very difficult.
For a human — even more so.
For Hutts, there are only laws — Hutt laws.
They don't even consider human laws as rules and consider it their duty to violate them wherever possible.
A kind of special Olympics among the kings of the galactic underworld.
"It's not my secret," Torin shrugged. "Ask the Moff..."
"And I'm asking you," the Hutt approached him threateningly.
"I have no answer," Inek spread his hands, demonstratively testing the sharpness of his combat knife. "And even if I did, I wouldn't say it without the Moff's permission."
"Your Moff is my puppet," the Hutt breathed stench and smoke into his face. "I don't know what's going on with his brain, but he's getting in the way of serious people to whom he should be loyal. Tell him that if things don't go back to normal — he'll face posthumous retirement. 'Black Sun' doesn't joke with those who try to play their own game."
More than informative and accessible.
"I heard the offer," Torin said without flinching, looking at the monstrous scar and pale eye on the left side of the Hutt.
For a moment, he considered whether it was worth giving the Hutt another one just like it — for symmetry.
But he restrained himself — the interests of the Dominion were paramount.
And at the moment, they did not include the destruction of a leader who could be replaced in a short time.
Until all the knots are untangled, it's better not to rush.
You don't tear a web of conspiracies — you burn it.
Whole and at once.
"It's in your own interest, little human," said the Hutt, throwing an unextinguished cigar into his mouth. "You have no shortage of courage and audacity. But it's better not to cross my path and do as you're told. I am an omnivorous sentient. And if you bore me, I'll devour you, leaving no bones behind."
"Don't bother," Torin advised. "I'm a bilious and vindictive person — heartburn will plague me until the end of my days."
The Hutt stared at him with a heavy gaze for a few seconds, then grinned and slowly crawled towards the exit, not forgetting to shove the adjutant with his bulk so that he almost flew aside.
"You have a nice house, little human," he said, turning at the threshold. "It would be a shame if it burned down. Along with your piece of scaly fur. However, fried nexu is better digested. If you don't do as I say, your pet will be an appetizer before I devour you. Am I making myself clear?"
"Perfectly," Torin replied. "I hope you heard my words too. We need to coordinate new schedules and routes."
And thereby find out where and from where you are transporting the disintegrators, which have been adopted by the 'Zann Consortium'.
"Don't get in my way, little human," Mi-Ha the Hutt threatened. "I'll crush you. And devour you."
With these words, he threw his entire weight against the entrance door, breaking it along with the door frame.
Which once again confirms — quickly erected mansions are complete nonsense, built from poor-quality materials.
Without even stopping, the Hutt crawled forward, heading for his huge speeder, into which he could barely climb and settle, occupying the entire stern, including the cargo compartment.
Torin watched the "guest" with a promising look.
Looking at the quietened nexu, he sighed heavily.
And took out his commlink to contact the "Moff."
He needed to change his place of residence.
The knot of intrigues in this part of the galaxy had begun to unravel, but it already "smelled of burning."
***
Glancing over the reports from Karthakk and the Allied Tion, I allowed myself the traditional few minutes of silence and brainstorming.
So, one sector is formally ours — and a grouping needs to be transferred there for territory cleanup.
In the second, weapons shipments from the 'Zann Consortium' and direct activity of their front forces were discovered.
Considering Mi-Ha the Hutt's actions, it can be assumed that Moff Gronn's changed behavior is not liked by someone in the 'Zann Consortium'.
Consequently, this is already a manifestation of a certain reaction that should have occurred earlier.
The enemy is waiting, pretending that our strikes do not bother him at all.
But at the same time, he is nervous about what is happening in another part of the galaxy.
The closest to the eastern faction.
So, Tyber Zann's nerves are finally giving out.
And where there are "nerves," there are also mistakes.
For now, let's tug on the rancor's sensitive spots again and make it react.
Or — weaken him on the future line of combat contact.
The holographic projector flickered with interference as usual before the figure of Rear Admiral Shohashi fully formed.
"Grand Admiral," he nodded respectfully and according to regulations.
"Counter-Admiral," I addressed him. "The time has come. Proceed."
A shadow of a smile appeared on Shohashi's face.
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," he promised and disconnected.
Well, enough flammable materials have been added to the foundation.
It's time to set fires everywhere.
Next, I activated other recipients...
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan